


Unacceptable

by supposed2bfunny



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of past sexual assault, This fic is completely lacking in subtly sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny
Summary: Inspired by a post on Tumblr (thanks, Nip Anon!).A single flicker of vulnerability on Murdoc's face is enough to make Stu realize there's an unaddressed issue in their relationship. Getting Murdoc to acknowledge his own worth and stand up for himself might be a more complicated task than Stu had bargained for.





	Unacceptable

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a quickie to break up the writer's block! Based on [ this ask ](https://supposed2bfunny.tumblr.com/post/183722124051/nip-anon-here-bout-to-hit-you-w-several-bc-ya-girl) from the lovely Nip Anon on Tumblr.
> 
> Just a little exercise in Stu's ability to observe Murdoc's behavior and hopefully try and help their relationship grow from it. I took some liberties with the ask, which I hope is okay. Feel free to hmu on Tumblr to chat further!

It was a wonder that he noticed it at all. Murdoc had spent his life mastering the art of dissimilation, and despite being the only serious lover the man had ever had, Stu was aware that he still missed endless cues from Murdoc. Every laugh, every insult, every casual sip at a too-strong drink, they were all subtle hints to figuring out something much more complex and much more dangerous that lurked beneath Murdoc’s frequent lecherous smiles. The best Stu could do was try to pay close attention, looking for fault lines that might help him better understand Murdoc so he could provide him the support he needed. Some days it felt like a Sisyphean task, though other times—when Murdoc was relaxed and happy and affectionate in ways no other person had ever seen him—the singer knew it was worth it.

His composure faltered one night. Gorillaz were at a launch party for another band’s new album with press, groupies, and endless fountains of booze flowing.

Stu was feeling loose and on top of the world with _Humanz_ ’s recent critical claim. It seemed that just as he finished a drink and a conversation from one lesser-known musician, another one would appear seeking advice, giving positive feedback on “Charger” or “Hallelujah Money,” and offering a Stella or a champagne flute.

Despite the many drinks and borderline-overwhelming number of faces, Stu was holding it together quite well. Still, he never failed to keep an eye out for Murdoc. Less for Murdoc’s sake, and more to make sure that he wasn’t getting into any stupid trouble, as he was always want to do at parties where journalists and cameramen swarmed like ants over the stickysweet dance floor.

However, Murdoc was mostly behaving himself, sitting with a busty journalist that Stu vaguely recognized having spoken to before. The bassist was cheerfully ogling her low-cut dress, and Stu found himself more bemused than jealous, a true testament to how far their relationship had come.

But in the course of their conversation, Stu noticed someone else—groupie or musician, he didn’t know—signaling for a few nearby onlookers to keep their mouths shut with a finger to his lips. He crept up towards Murdoc and the journalist from behind; the two of them were pressed close together to hear one another over the deafening music, and were none the wiser to the man sneaking up behind them.

As soon as he was right behind them, the man reached down to grope Murdoc’s ass in front of everyone.

Onlookers broke into peals of raucous laughter, and after a moment, Murdoc and the journalist began to laugh too, Murdoc shouting something suggestive over the music and pretending to advance towards the man, hands pressed over his heart as he presumably made jokes about a budding romance. That brought on a new chorus of laughs, and Murdoc beamed.

Flirting with a busty woman was one thing. But watching someone grope Murdoc, in jest or not, made him a little uncomfortable. He found himself weaving through crowds, ignoring friends and fans calling his name, eager to stand beside his boyfriend.

It wasn’t just his sudden jealousy that suddenly had his liquor-coated stomach churning though.

It was combined look of terror and sickness that had washed over Murdoc’s face in the briefest of seconds before he could get his bearings and laugh the situation off.

He had looked almost like he wanted to cry.

Moments later, Stu was at his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling Murdoc against him, the bassist instantly melting against him in way that still make Stu’s heart flutter.

“You okay?” he spoke directly into his ear.

“Of course, bluebird,” Murdoc smiled and held up his cocktail. “Chatting with Kathy here. You’ve met right?”

Stu turned to the journalist and her wonderful tits, and smiled. Murdoc was composed and cheerful beside him, telling crude jokes and tall-tales that had Stu backtracking, trying to set the record straight for Kathy. Maybe he’d misjudged Murdoc’s expression in the dim light of the room was all. The bassist was completely fine, though he was happy to hook an arm around his frontman’s waist and pose for pictures with fans, making sure his expression was always a dirty one in every picture he shared with Stu.

The rest of the evening went by smoothly, and Stu and Murdoc spent the cab ride home kissing messily and groping each other’s erections through their trousers, exchanging the occasional drunken giggle.

Though he let the incident slip by without comment, Stu was not quite able to forget the night, or the flicker of fear he’d seen on Murdoc’s face for a moment.

\---

Weeks later Stu and Murdoc sat in one of Stu’s favorite cafes, chatting with a journalist from some offshoot of _Buzzfeed_ called _Stormfront_ or _WeSpeak_ or something like that: a zippy, millennial-run news outlet that focused on music. Most of her questions pertained to the overt political stance of _Humanz_ , which both men answered bluntly, pulling no punches about their disgust over Brexit headlines, Trumpism, and the rampant attempts in both the US and UK to defend men accused of sexual assault.

“You have to forgive my skepticism,” the journalist, a bright and equally-blunt twentysomething with an Irish lilt, said. “I think when most people hear ‘Me Too’ and ‘Murdoc Niccals,’ they’re expecting to hear that you’re the next one accused of some past inappropriate behavior.”

“I don’t have to forgive your skepticism one bit,” he responded, fiddling with the Juul that Stu had bought him recently to smoke indoors. He still had a hard time refilling its cartridges, and eventually, he dropped it on the table, giving up and swiping a sip of Stu’s blackberry hibiscus tea instead, instantly pulling a face at how sweet it was. “Just because I’m a man of incomparable sexual prowess doesn’t mean that I got there by taking advantage of women. They simply can’t resist me, you see. I’m a sex god, like Jagger, but easier on the eyes.”

Stu snorted, and Murdoc kicked him under the table.

“I understand there are also whispers, mostly stemming from your old biography _Rise of the Ogre_ , that you yourself are a victim of sexual assault, Murdoc,” she said. “Is there any validity to this, or was this one of the embellishments you added for flare back when you were trying to make a name for Gorillaz? And if so, do you think that sexual assault is a tool that can be used to sensationalize a person’s history?”

“I’m going to politely request that we leave Murdoc’s childhood off the record here please,” Stu interrupted, reaching for Murdoc’s hand, though the bassist pulled away to cross his arms over his chest, looking annoyed with her question.

“Understood,” she assured, “but Murdoc, if those stories are true, do you have any words of advice or hope for fellow victims in the age of Me Too?”

“How are you going to say ‘understood’ and then ignore what I just said?” Stu asked, finding himself angrier than he normally allowed himself to get with the press. “We don’t talk about Murdoc’s childhood publicly. You know that. I just bloody said it. Muds, should we get going?”

Murdoc was staring at his abandoned Juul, and it took him a moment to rouse himself as the journalist quickly apologized, begging them to stay and assuring them that the entire conversation would be deleted, and that she was only looking to bolster support for victims out there.

“Seek justice,” Murdoc finally muttered, making them both look up. “I know there are times where it feels outing some cunt who gropes your tits or bribes you for a blowie feels like social or financial suicide. No shit, it is. But there’s no justice in the world unless you fight tooth and nail for it, right? You’ve got to chose a hill to die on, and it might as well be defending yourself or others from creeps who’ll try and take advantage.” He looked up across the table, meeting her eyes with an intensity that made Stu feel edgy. “Fucking scream until your voice is heard, and seek justice. Tirelessly. That’s what these women—and blokes too—ought to do.”

She looked at him, eyes wide, clearly understanding in that moment just how true the rumors from _Rise of the Ogre_ were. Stu hoped silently that she felt like a jerk for having pushed him to give any advice or commentary on the issue after being told not to.

And that was that. The rest of the interview went smoothly, with Stu warming up to her again as she continued to ask them questions that few others did, this time artfully keeping the topics broad and most impersonal. Murdoc seemed to be having a good time too, but Stu still made sure to hold his hand extra tight as they left the café. Murdoc, cigarette in his mouth, had smiled at him in a way that made his heart skip.

\---

The casino was loud and dark and electric. Stu was having a surprising amount of luck at the blackjack table, and for once in his life, feeling very much like the hero of one of those movies set in Vegas. Granted, the endings of those movies tended to be pretty grisly, but he was pumped up on enough complementary cocktails not to care too much. 

The party was in celebration of the birthday of one of Russel’s closest friends, and Gorillaz showing up to help celebrate was the icing on the dude’s birthday cake. Stu only got a few words in with him before Russel and Noodle tugged him over to the poker table to watch an apparently climactic game, and Stu focused on his own luck and how cool he looked sipping kamikazes and holding his own.

So he was a little disappointed when Murdoc came up to him, suggesting the casino was a little overwhelming, and wouldn’t he like to go back to the hotel?

“I was about to buy more chips actually,” Stu acknowledged, pointing to the large bills he’d just placed on the table. “Doing pretty good. You’re not tired already, are you?”

“Of course not,” Murdoc responded, tone rising with a level of incredulity that informed Stu that he was in fact tired, and now lying about it. “You want to stay and win me a Royce, pet?”

“Nah,” Stu motioned to the dealer that he was rescinding his bid for more chips, and reluctantly placed his cards on the table. “Sorry, mates, change of plans. I’m out.”

“Too bad,” the dealer said, arching a brow in a way that suggested Stu’s hand was better than his own. “Sure you don’t want to grab dessert on your way out? It’s complimentary.”

“We’re okay,” Stu replied, linking his arm through Murdoc’s and heading towards the coat check. “Gotta get the old man home before he falls asleep at the bar.”

“Oh haw, haw,” Murdoc rejoined sarcastically as several other players waved goodbye. Once they were out of earshot, Murdoc pressed against Stu lightly. “Did you really want to stay?” he asked. “You can, you know. I can get back to the hotel myself; I’m not that geriatric yet. Though I may ask you to change the colostomy bag before we go to bed.”

“You never cease to make me want to be sick,” the singer replied drily. “It’s fine, Muds. I don’t want you to have to sit in the hotel alone.” He’d learned over the years that Murdoc did not fare well in solitude. And anyway, though he was disappointed to leave early, thinking about sinking into the luxury sheets provided by the five-star hotel certainly had its appeal.

He could sense that the bassist was embarrassed, and working himself up the more he thought about it. The ‘old man’ comment may have been poorly timed. “Didn’t mean to tear you away from your game night with the boys.”

“Game night with the boys is never as important as you.”

He looked at the singer uncertainly. “Well tell you what, I’ll make it up to you when we get back to the hotel.”

“You mean you’ll actually brush your teeth for once?”

They both cackled, leaving the coat checker smiling nervously at their manic behavior as they made their way outside into the brisk night air.

Back at the hotel, Stu rapidly found himself coming down from the high of the booming casino and discovered that he was in fact exhausted. Stumbling out of his high-waist jeans and printed button-down shirt, he poured himself a glass of water and made his way to the bed, switching off the light as he went.

Murdoc watched him from the other end of bed, smiling tiredly. The dark circles under his eyes belied how exhausted he truly was, and Stu felt bad for having kept him up so long, not picking up on it sooner at the party and getting him home and safe. He silently chastised himself for not having paid closer attention: Murdoc was always quick to swoop in the moment he himself was getting overwhelmed or upset, and had also learned to predict Stu’s migraines with a frightening accuracy, sometimes slipping a few pills into his palm before the singer felt the first pinch of pain behind his eyes. No matter, he’d do better next time, keep a closer eye on the bassist.

Stu was getting comfortable under the covers when Murdoc cleared his throat, and the singer looked up to see Murdoc sitting back against the pillows, spreading his legs suggestively, clad in only his briefs.

“What are you doing?”

“Said I was going to make it up to you for leaving the party early, didn’t I? Want a go?” He pointed at his crotch.

Stu hovered midway onto lying recumbent on his pillow, brows knitting together as he assessed the man’s body language. “You’re not the least bit aroused.”

“So?”

“Why would you want to have sex if you’re not turned on? You look ready to pass out, Muds.”

“So?” he repeated, something about the flippancy making the vodka, triple sec, and sugar in Stu’s stomach begin to slosh unpleasantly. “C’mon, I owe you, luv.”

The singer crawled over to Murdoc and placed a hand on each of his knees, gently drawing them together. “We’re not having sex,” he said quietly, not sure how to sort out the rest of what he wanted to say, what he wanted to ask. 

Murdoc squirmed at those words. “I’ve gone and mucked up your night then, eh? Sorry not having a raging hard-on is a put-off for you. If it makes it easier, just use my mouth.”

“I’m not using your body for sex, Murdoc,” he snapped, sounding much more venomous than he meant to. 

“Really pissed you off cutting your blackjack game short, huh? Sorry, bluebird, next time I’ll get home myself.”

“I’m not mad at you Murdoc, I just don’t get how you’re going to suggest fucking when you clearly aren’t up for it.” 

“I suggested it for _you_ , mate.”

“Well no thank you. Good night.”

Stu dropped down onto his side of the bed again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, wondering why the hell they were fighting. For a few minutes, he felt Murdoc staring at his profile intently. Ultimately, the bassist rolled over to face away from him.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t that he was angry with Murdoc, not at all. Really, he was just confused. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with the bassist, why he would expect Stu to treat his body like an object when there had been nothing flirtatious or sexual about their interactions the entire evening. The fact that, after such a long relationship, Murdoc thought so little of him was more than a little hurtful. Despite the comfort of the bed and the fluffy sheets, he didn’t sleep well.

When he dragged himself out of bed the next morning, Murdoc was already awake, dressed, and smoking on the balcony, the mini bottles of liquor from the fridge open and lined up along the railing. Stu came to stand beside him and look out at the trees lining the property, at young, fit joggers making their way along the sidewalk on the opposite end of the parking lot.

“How’s your hangover?”

“Eh. Had worse.”

“Went out for coffee; there’s one for you on the counter in the kitchen. Milk, two sugars.”

“Thanks. You’ve been up a while, then.”

“Yeah.” Murdoc exhaled, gray smoke slithering over his lips and chin.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you last night. And that I clammed up after that.”

The bassist shrugged, still looking out ahead, not meeting his gaze.

“Murdoc, cut the shit. Why would you expect me to fuck you if you weren’t into it? That was weird. Gross.”

“I thought you were into it.”

“You thought I was into fucking people who don’t want to have sex with me?” 

“No, no, you dolt. Christ,” he shook his head, but still kept his gaze on the view before them. “I thought I could make it up to you for leaving the party early. Just a quickie. I wasn’t in the mood I’ll admit, but I’m your boyfriend Stu; I don’t mind. You could’ve, you know.”

Murdoc’s nauseated face at the launch party all those months earlier flashed though his mind. Despite his strong desire for caffeine, the thought of putting anything into his stomach suddenly made him want to throw up. “I would never touch you without your consent Murdoc. Not just for sex. I mean, in general, understand?”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you had my consent. You’re overthinking this, Stu. Just drop it.”

He took a breath, placed his hands on the railing of the balcony and leaned forward slightly. “Okay let’s try something, Muds. Would you ever do that to me? If you were really in the mood for a fuck and I was tired or not feeling good, and I sad you could fuck me anyway, would you?”

Murdoc shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Stu, don’t do this.”

“I mean really, I’m completely soft, sober, tired. But you’ve been aching for me all night, and I say you can have a quick go. Do you—”

“Fuck you,” Murdoc spat, dropping his cigarette into his empty coffee cup and stalking back into the hotel room.

“How would you feel if some bloke did that to Noodle? How’d you feel about someone touching your daughter because she said it was okay but she didn’t really mean it?”

The slamming of the door told him that he was in for another twelve hours of silence.

\---

Months passed. Stu found himself noticing more and more often how people touched Murdoc and spoke to him in ways that they wouldn’t dare speak to any other members of the band. Because of his reputation, because he tended to laugh off sexual comments and encourage people to see him as a “sex god,” he also tended to attract attention that Stu knew he didn’t want. He didn’t want it.

He didn’t want it.

And that fucking face.

That face he made when he was caught off guard. It was so instantaneous: a fractional widening of the eyes and parting of the lips, and then Murdoc Niccals was back, smirking or letting his tongue loll out of his mouth however rude a drunken groupie’s comment might be, or however touchy a stranger might get at a club or party.

But now that Stu had seen it once, he noticed it more and more often. It became an unspoken obsession of his, categorizing how frequently Murdoc was approached, touched, spoken of, in ways that the other band members never were. And the fact that he was in a relationship with the singer seemed to have no effect on how people treated him.

It was terrifying to realize that Murdoc didn’t know how to ask people to stop for fear of ruining his reputation as a fun, dirty rockstar. He just didn’t seem to have the self-esteem to ask anyone, close friend or stranger, to back off and give him space.

Well then, it was time to learn.

The opportunity came soon enough at a photo shoot the band attended. Stu and Murdoc sat side-by side chatting with stylists, allowing makeup artists to touch them up slightly, to recommend scarves or jackets or sunglasses for them to pose in.

During a break, the makeup artist who had been attending Murdoc came over, pointing to his lap.

“This seat taken?” she asked, flashing a pretty smile. Before the bassist could answer, she began to sit on his lap, and Stu noticed the way Murdoc’s nails bit into the armrests of his seat fractionally.

“Actually,” Stu said, reaching out to touch her shoulder lightly, putting just enough pressure to coax her back up into standing. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Oh,” she said, cheeks coloring. “Sorry. I wanted to maybe get some selfies with Murdoc. I didn’t mean anything by it, 2D, really—”

“Yeah Stu,” Murdoc stood up for her, “she was fine—”

He offered a reassuring smile. “I know, luv, of course. I just get jealous. I’ve asked Muds to maybe lay off flirting with lovely ladies so much because it makes me sad. You understand.”

“Of course! I never meant to make you jealous, oh gosh I’m so sorry—”

“Tell you what, pet,” Murdoc purred, patting her arm, “let me have this break to chat with the ol’ ball and chain here, and I’ll find you before we wrap up and take some quality pictures with you, alright? You’ll be able to show them off to all your friends.”

“Yes, sounds great!” she chirped, her cheerfulness just a tad forced. She took off, retreating into a room marked _Staff Only_ as Murdoc turned to level a searching look at the singer.

“Since when do you get jealous?”

“It’s not that,” Stu replied, reaching for Murdoc’s hand and counting it as a minor victory when he didn’t pull back. “No one is allowed to touch you without your consent, understand?”

The older man stared at him wordlessly, but something in the way his eyes widened just a bit told Stu that he was perceptive.

“Not anyone. I don’t care if it’s a groupie or a friend, or me. If you don’t like it, you have to say so, okay? Murdoc Niccals didn’t sell his soul to Satan so people could push him around, right?”

He smiled at that. “Right. But that skirt was hardly pushing me around, mate. She just wanted to—”

“Did you want her to sit on your lap?”

“Well, no, but it wasn’t hurting anybody—”

“D’you remember that launch party for that band in Mayfair? Back in July?”

“What?” he considered this. “I think. The one where we all but fucked in the cab on the ride home?”

“Yeah. Remember when that guy got drunk and groped you right in front of everyone and you laughed? Was that okay? _Really_ okay?”

Murdoc stood up with a grunt, trying to pull his hand back. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“What about that night at the casino for Kenneth’s birthday?” the singer persisted, squeezing his hand tighter.

“Oh, not this again.”

“When you told me I could fuck your mouth even though you wanted to go to bed.”

“I’m going to get something to drink. Want anything from the vending machine?”

“Was any of it okay, Murdoc?” he snapped, taking his boyfriend’s wrist to keep him from wandering off and lowering his voice so they wouldn’t attract too much attention. He was going to need to learn to wait until they were alone to have these kinds of conversations.

“What’s your point?” the bassist snorted.

“Just what I said. No one is allowed to touch you without your consent. Or say things to you that make you uncomfortable. I don’t care how benign their bloody intent is either, that’s not the point. The point is your comfort.” He stood up too so his eyes were more level with the bassist’s, and very slowly—Murdoc could easily flinch away if he wanted to—he stroked Murdoc’s hair out of his face.

Thick eyebrows knitting together, Murdoc opened his mouth but offered no words, no rebuttals. With his bangs swept out of his face, the singer could watch the confused emotions playing across his face as he processed what he was hearing.

“You’re worth so much more than you realize,” Stu murmured. “I need you to understand that I’ve seen how much these things hurt you and I don’t like it. I want you to know you deserve to speak up for yourself. You’re worth that. You _are_.”

“We’re in the middle of a photo shoot, you stupid sod,” he muttered, half-smiling, though his voice had a watery quality to it and he couldn’t quite bring himself to chuckle.

“Get used to it, old man,” he replied, daring to press a soft kiss to the older man’s cheek. “Because I’m going to be telling you this every day, no matter where we are, until you believe me. And as long as I’m around when things happen, I’ll bloody stand up for you myself too, got it?”

“So I’ve got to learn to say no then, hm? Does this mean you’ll never make a pass at me again?” he asked, smiling fully now, his hands finding the belt loops of Stu’s jeans and hanging there playfully.

“Please. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll never stop trying to get into your pants, Murdoc.”

“I think I’m starting to get what you’re saying,” the bassist laughed. “As long as I’m okay with it, it’s okay.”

“Exactly! Remember though, that goes for anyone, not just me. Public be damned, you’re going to start asserting your worth.”

Now Murdoc kissed him, right on the lips, and Stu’s breath hitched in his lungs at the sudden proximity, at the bold way Murdoc held against him, letting their noses brush, right in front of photographers and makeup artists and directors and Russel and Noodle. He wasn’t normally so overtly romantic in public, and Stu’s hands flew to his shoulders to hold him close, to savor the intimacy for just a second longer.

“Thank you,” Murdoc whispered against his lips. “For saying that.”

“I mean it,” he replied seriously. They were so close together that it was hard to hold eye contact. He looked into the dark brown of Murdoc’s right eye the right red of his left one. “I know this won’t happen overnight. As long as it takes. I’m here. I’m your support, right? I’m by your side.”

“Sweet Satan, you’re just pressing all the right buttons today,” the bassist smiled, pulling back a bit. “Quickie in the bathroom?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” the singer joked, making to settle back into his chair as the director called for the break to come to and end.

“I was being serious,” Murdoc sighed, slumping back down beside him, grinning at the way Stu blushed and snorted a laugh. “Tell you what. I’m going to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Meet me back there in five.”

“We just had a break!” The singer protested, but Murdoc was already jumping up, making excuses about being old and having a bladder that was hard to control, and did anyone really feel like mopping piss up off the floor? Then good, he’d be right back.

Stu covered his face in his hand, mortified as the director groaned and Russel called after Murdoc’s retreating back that he was a rude son of a bitch. Still, the singer couldn’t help the small smile on his face, knowing he had at least gotten through to Murdoc to some small extent, that they could work on this together. That he was going to help protect the man he’d come to love more than he would ever have thought possible.

He glanced at his wristwatch: 15:13. So five minutes would be…15:18. Perfect. He bit his lip, hoping his smile didn’t make it too obvious what he and his unpredictable boyfriend were up to.


End file.
